


Wild Magics

by SilverBlueFire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Draco Malfoy, Alpha Theodore Nott, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Legal sexism, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Ron Weasley Bashing, Non-Consensual Touching, Omega Harry Potter, Omega Hermione Granger, Sexual Harassment, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Two main pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2019-10-22 01:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17653448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBlueFire/pseuds/SilverBlueFire
Summary: “I’ve been feeling really funny lately and I think” —Harry gritted his teeth and rushed through the end— “Ithinkimanomega.” "Oh Harry, you have the absolute worst luck."Because under no circumstances can Harry Potter have a normal year at Hogwarts, not even after Voldemort is vanquished and with no Dumbledore to complicate his life. Of course other complications are entirely fair game. Especially when they overflow into Hermione's life too.





	1. Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> Ideas/requests very welcome. Not beta read. The story is about both Harry and Hermione.

“Hermione,” Harry said softly as he joined her at the table. “Er, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Generally, he had learned not to disturb his friend when she was studying. After all NEWTs were only eight months away, twelve days, and nineteen hours away (it was written on her planner in big red letters, thank you, Harry was hardly keeping track himself) but in this case, he really needed her help. He cast muffliato discreetly and that was enough to make her lift her nose from the enormous tome on, er—he glanced at the title just as she set it down—The Importance of Comparative Dynamics of Transformative Conversion. If he had to guess, and thank Merlin he didn’t, it was probably a very old, very technical Transfigurations book.

“What is it, Harry?” she asked a little testily.

“It’s, well…” This was not something he really wanted to talk with her about, but he knew, knew that somehow this was not a problem he could take to Ron. “I… I’ve been feeling a bit odd lately…” his voice trailed off.

Hermione raised an exasperated eyebrow. “If you’re sick Harry you should go see Madame Pomfrey.”

“I’m not sick.” Harry took a long breath and closed his eyes so at least he didn’t have to watch her reaction. “I think” —he gritted his teeth and rushed through the end— “Ithinkimanomega.”

To her credit Hermione did not gasp or shriek or really have any reaction at all. Maybe her eyes got a little bigger, but by the time Harry warily cracked opened his eyes her expression was smooth. Then she sighed and said sympathetically, “Oh Harry, you have the absolute worst luck.”

Harry flushed red and opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off.

“I don’t mean that being an omega is a bad thing, Harry, just that male omegas are very rare. The last one in Britain died in 1954.” Trust Hermione to know the dates of obscure magical trivia.

“I don’t want to be,” said Harry miserably. “I’ve never wanted to be. I especially don’t want to be a brood mare or even just a, a toy.”

“Not all omegas are completely submissive, Harry,” Hermione said gently.

“Really!” he said slightly hysterically and suddenly very glad for the muffling spell. “Tell me one who’s not!” Even female omegas were uncommon, and the ones Harry knew might as well have been non-existent. They rarely ventured out of their homes and thus were merely tales told by their alphas. Omegas were supposedly completely incapable of self-autonomy, physically and, far more galling, legally.

“Well,” Hermione said, and she began so hesitantly that Harry blinked at her in surprise. “I’m not, for one.” 

“Oh.”

He supposed he would have figured that out sooner or later when his senses caught up with the changes, but right now her scent was indistinguishable from the general mild scents of the library. He snorted internally. Given the amount of time Hermione spent here it wouldn’t surprise him if she smelled like the books she adored so much.

Harry shook himself. “Have you had… you know?”

“I had my first heat over the summer,” she said. “I think… they’re usually around three months apart so the next is likely not too far in the future.”

Harry shivered. “How did you know…”

Hermione winced in sympathy. “It starts with just a general sense of something wrong. You start wanting certain foods, mostly iron rich protein, and drinking too much water and feeling vaguely full and sloshy. Then your skin starts to feel sensitive and you notice every little touch from every person, every piece of clothing, every breath of air. Then you got sore in…” she blushed and shifted in a way that made Harry look at her breasts. Horrified he dragged his eyes immediately away to see her chagrinned expression.

“I suppose for you it will just be soreness in you low abdomen, but I could be wrong. If you haven’t noticed anything by then the heat cramps, and for you I suppose it would be wetness in, er, the back, will be impossible to miss. The cramps are awful even though you feel really, really horny by the time it gets that far.”

“It sounds awful,” Harry said emphatically. “How long does all that take?”

“For a first heat symptoms usually start about three weeks before the cramps and slick.” They both turned crimson at the sound of that word. It wasn’t that Harry couldn’t listen to sexual talk; Seamus and Dean had had some very explicit and informative conversations in the dorm over the years. But Hermione was as good as his sister and the two concepts, sex and sibling, emphatically did not mix well.

“Harry,” Hermione drew back his attention. “When did you start feeling funny?”

He winced. “Two weekends ago.”

“Have you been to see Madame Pomfrey? She’ll need to set up an isolation room for you.”

“Why?” he asked without thinking.

Hermione gave a fond if exasperated sigh. “Because until your first heat you don’t know if you can control yourself around alphas and if you can’t you’ll end up mated to the first one to get their hands on you.”

“Shit.” 

Harry’s chest clenched. Was it really too much to ask for one normal year at Hogwarts? The fates must be conspiring against him. He had defeated the Dark Lord (several times depending on how you counted) and restored peace to Wizarding Britain only to have this absurdity forced on him while he tried to finish his education.

Hermione’s mouth pinched in sympathy. “Yeah I know.”

“Wait,” said Harry, sitting up thoughtfully, “I thought all omegas lost their minds during heat. Do you mean…”

“It’s incredibly rare for an omega to be able to keep enough of their mind during heat to be able to defend themselves or make choices. The few that can are called wild omegas because some people think that the wild magic is strongest in them. I knew an omega, a girl from Durmstrang, in our fourth year who was one. She said that unless you have a will that can control Fiendfyre, you probably can’t control yourself during heats.”

“So that’s right out for me then,” Harry moaned, shivering at the memory of their one encounter with the cursed flame.

“I don’t think I have it either,” Hermione said. “At least not enough for the full length of the heat; maybe for the first day.”

“So,” Harry laughed blackly. “Looks like we’re stuck spending twenty days a year in painful isolation unless we feel like surrendering our bodies to some goddamned knothead. Fuck.”

Harry planted his forehead on the table and covered his head with his arms.

“At least you and Ron…” he started.

“Ron’s not an alpha,” Hermione said too quickly.

Harry raised his head. “But weren’t you… is that why after school started he suddenly started giving you the cold shoulder? I thought you’d just had a row or something.”

“Or something,” Hermione’s mouth curled but it was the farthest thing from a smile. “I told him I was an omega when we got back. He was not happy about it.”

“Why not? He…” Harry registered her expression and amended his original wording to “… is not your boyfriend?”

“Not now. He wanted to be at the end of last year, but I told him I was traveling over the summer to get my parents and now… everyone in Ron’s family except Bill is a beta. A beta can’t see an omega through their heats, even the first ones and they only get worse with age. There’s no way I can end up with Ron.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hermione said briskly and with a touch of irritation. “Frankly I’m not sure that’s what I wanted anyways.”

Harry nodded because in all fairness he had never understood how Ron and Hermione would work as—well, as Ron and Hermione. “He isn’t going to like that I’m an omega, is he?”

Hermione afforded him a sympathetic grimace. “No, I can’t imagine he will.”

Harry let out his breath in a heavy sigh. “It is what it is, I suppose.”

“It’ll work out, Harry, I promise.” Harry knew she was trying to convince herself as much as she was to him.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

For a few minutes more Harry sat digesting the conversation before remembering that he did have homework to complete. He settled at the table with his Charms work and pulled one of Hermione’s books towards him. She smiled at him for his studiousness, writing steadily on her Transfigurations essay before rising to shelve the giant tome.

The next set of books she dumped on the table contained chains of symbols and numbers Harry could not interpret so he assumed it was for Arithmancy. He raised an eyebrow as Hermione opened four different books at once.

“Shut up, Harry,” she snapped without looking at him.

A hint of a playful smile flitted across his face. Harry said nothing and looked back at his Charms. They worked in silence for a while with just the occasional shuffle of other students to and from the bookshelves to distract them. 

“Granger are you finished with Wilkinson’s Treatise on Arithmetic Certainties?” asked a voice without warning.

Harry and Hermione both looked up from their work. A tall, dark haired Slytherin whom Harry only vaguely recognized stood across the table looking at Hermione expectantly.

“Um, yeah, here,” Hermione shoved the book she had just been consulting across the table towards him.

“Thank you.” The Slytherin collected the book and walked away.

Harry gaped at his friend. “Hermione, you are okay? I know you weren’t finished with that.”

He watched her blush furiously which only deepened his confusion. 

“Nott’s an alpha,” she muttered unhappily. “I just wanted him to go away.”

“Oh.” Harry felt it might be more than that, but he knew better than to pursue a subject along that line. “You know him?”

“He’s in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with me,” Hermione said, dropping her eyes back to her paper.

“Hermione…”

“Drop it Harry.” He knew Hermione’s tones well enough by now that he wisely did drop it and thus escaped without talon scratches across his face.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” He shoved things into his bag then paused. “You will be at dinner, won’t you? NEWTs aren’t that close.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ll be at dinner. Obviously, I can’t leave you alone with Ron. You might pick up some of his table manners.”

Harry snorted, “Merlin forbid,” and headed back to the common room leaving Hermione alone with her books. His scent swirled behind him, and when she concentrated, she could just smell the beginnings of his gender. Poor Harry. It seemed that fate, or was that Fate, really was out to get him one way or another.

“Granger.”

Hermione flinched in surprise and immediately wished she hadn’t. Nott stood to her right, dark penetrating eyes fixed on her reaction.

“Yes.” At least her voice came out steady. Merlin, why hadn’t she just left with Harry? Had Nott deliberately waited to corner her until after he had left?

“You lied when you said you were finished with this.”

He set down Wilkinson’s Treatise with a soft thud, and the fall of the book brought a wave of air carrying the alpha’s scent right to Hermione’s nose. She tried so hard not to start trembling.

“No, I didn’t.”

His expression did not change as he waved a hand at the pile of books on the table. “You have half the Arithmancy section sitting here opened to sections on certainties and your essay is only sixteen inches long.” His low voice was doing dangerous things to her insides. “Why did you let me have the book?”

Hermione felt her body curl defensively despite herself. “You… you needed it.”

Nott gazed implacably at her and turned abruptly away. Hermione waited until he was past the Herbology shelves before letting out her breath with a shaky sigh. Suddenly joining Harry at dinner sounded vastly more appealing than it had ten minutes ago. 

Capping her ink bottle, Hermione rolled up her parchments and stacked the books neatly to return to Madame Pince. She left the library briskly, eager for familiar, safe company, and quite unaware of the pair of dark curious eyes that observed her hasty retreat.


	2. Declaration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideas and requests welcome. Thank you for all the encouragement in continuing.

“Theo, where the hell have you been?”

Theodore Nott having set his book bag down carefully at his desk now sat on his bed, his face unreadable. “Library.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Learn anything interesting?” He turned away not expecting or really all that interested in an answer.

“Granger is an omega.”

Draco sat up so quickly he damn near fell out of bed. “ _What_!”

Theo pinned him with a pointed stare. “You heard me.”

“Merlin bloody wept,” Draco said, swiping a hand haphazardly through his platinum hair. “That’s one way to make her stop being a bloody know-it-all, isn’t it? No wonder she stopped drawing attention to herself.”

When they’d returned to Hogwarts, Draco required by Ministry decree (it was school or Azkaban), Theo by Ministry suggestion (school or house arrest), and Granger presumably by choice, he’d expected her to fall right back into the habit of attempting to win the World Cup in arm waving. When she hadn’t, he had chalked it up to surviving a war.

Theo was nodding slowly, a pensive expression taking over his stoic face. “Explains why she and Weasley aren’t together too, doesn’t it? A beta couldn’t help her.”

Draco’s eyebrows came sharply together. “Why do you care if she and the Weasel are sucking face?”

He had seen a lot of dark glares from his friend over the years, but this one took the fucking cake. Had he not been an alpha himself, Draco knew he would be exposing his throat and backing down. He squinted at his dormmate suspiciously.

“You going to claim her then? Her gender make up for the fact that she’s a m…?”

He found himself rather suddenly on the sharp end of Theo’s wand and shut right the hell up.

“If you finish that sentence with something less than complimentary,” Theo snarled, his voice low and ragged with alpha inflection, “I will curse your tongue out of your fucking mouth. I’ve listened to you insult her for seven years. I won’t listen to it any longer.”

Draco shoved Theo away. “She’s really an omega, then.”

Theo took a long breath, clearly sorting out his emotions and controlling his anger. His wand dropped onto his bedcovers. “Yes, she is though I’m sure she won’t admit it.”

“Would you expect her to?”

Theo’s jaw worked. “No. I’ll have to call her on it.”

So, his friend really was going to make a play for the muggleborn. Draco had learned a lot of things during the war, and Granger’s value he had witnessed first-hand. He still didn’t like her very much, but he could no longer honestly say that he believed her to be inferior because of her birth. If Theo wanted her, Draco wouldn’t fight him over it.

________________________

Hermione had seemed a little out of sorts when she joined Harry at dinner but given their earlier conversation, he couldn’t particularly blame her for it. He let her be while she piled steak and kidney pie onto her plate, and by the time they went upstairs she seemed a fair way back to normal.

They claimed their favorite squashy chairs by the fire, and Hermione pulled out her work as Harry expected her to. Ron rolled his eyes and went upstairs with Seamus when he saw them. Neither Harry nor Hermione made any attempt to call him back.

“So,” Harry said softly to get his friend’s attention. “Do I just go to Madam Pomfrey and announce what I am or…”

“You’ll probably want to give her a time range,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “And maybe tell her that this is your first heat so you won’t be entirely sure when it will hit. She can help get you to a heat room if you go into heat suddenly. You wouldn’t want someone catching your scent, would you?”

Harry felt like she had just sucker punched him. “She, Madam Pomfrey, won’t try to get me to spend it with an alpha, will she? I know Dumbledore would have.”

Hermione pursed her lips not disagreeing. Dumbledore had manipulated every aspect of Harry’s life even beyond the Headmaster’s death. No doubt had he known of Harry’s designation he would have found a way to turn that into a weapon for the war. She shuddered to even think about it.

“I don’t believe she will,” Hermione said. “When I told her that I would need a room she told me that I could bring an alpha if I wanted but that she would make sure that I was alone if I wanted to be.”

“Good,” said Harry with relief. He sat with her for a moment longer but with his questions extinguished, she turned back to her homework again. He rubbed his arm, annoyed with the touch of the fabric. Then, remembering what Hermione had said earlier in the library, he yanked his hand away.

“Right,” Harry stood up, suddenly feeling exposed and tender and not a little horny. “I’m going to bed. Good night, Hermione.”

She nodded a farewell, and Harry escaped up the staircase to the boys’ dorms.  
________________________

The next morning during Hermione’s free period, she escaped the incessant male blather of Quidditch and Quidditch and oh, of course Quidditch. In third year while running herself ragged with her time turner, she had needed a place to store her books that wasn’t all the way up in the tower, and she had found a hidden chamber on the fourth floor. It was a single room turret on the side of the castle with five sides of windows and the arched entryway on the sixth side. Now she used it when she wanted to escape not only Ron but also the eyes in the library. The little room had seen more use in the last few months than in her four previous years of school.

Hermione perched on the second windowsill, tucked her feet neatly next to her thighs, and took out her Potions textbook. It smelled like the library, like old worn parchment and ink, a safe homely scent. Harry smelled like that too, well safe and homely, not like parchment. Or at least he used to. She’d noticed a different scent on him in this morning when he’d come downstairs for breakfast and swiftly sent him back upstairs to shower lest the alphas in Gryffindor catch his scent. Thank goodness at least none of the boys in his dorm had presented that way, but there were other alphas in the tower. She was extremely diligent about her own hygiene for just that reason. The last thing she wanted…

“Granger.”

Hermione squeaked, clutching her book to her chest and leaping to her feet.

“Easy,” Nott told her gently, hands raised so she could see that he wasn’t holding a wand. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You didn’t,” said Hermione in a much higher voice than her norm.

He didn’t contradict her directly, merely replied, “You’re trembling.”

She was, wasn’t she? Hermione took a deep breath and regretted it at once because now she had a nose full of alpha pheromones as well as his presence and voice making her mind spin. She flashed a nervous glance at the alpha, but he stood in the archway still, making no move to approach her.

“What do you want, Nott?” Her voice didn’t shake at least.

He tilted his head slightly. “I want to speak with you, but if you’d rather go to a more public corridor…”

He knew, Hermione realized with abject horror. He knew what she was, or he wouldn’t be acting so carefully to avoid scaring her. Though why he bothered was another question. She knew plenty of alphas who would shove her into the first available alcove if they discovered her gender. He was giving her the chance to put them in a public space where he couldn’t hurt her, but on the other hand, the more people who were around the better the chances were that someone would overhear. She didn’t have any doubts about where this conversation would go.

“We,” she hesitated but in the end her privacy was more important. She would hex him if he tried anything. “We can talk here. Just… don’t come any closer.”

He inclined his head in agreement and stepped obliquely into the room. Hermione flinched, palming her wand but he didn’t move again. Nott gestured at the archway.

“Would you like to cast privacy wards?”

 Her brow wrinkled. He was putting an awful lot of effort into making her feel comfortable. If he had cast wards, she would have suspected he was trying to keep her from running, but instead he was trusting her to point her wand at the entrance rather than at him. Hermione raised her wand and wordlessly cast muffliato.

He looked at her when she was done and said nothing. Hermione tried not to shake or ramble, but eventually the vacuum of silence was too much.

“You know.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.

“You hide it well,” he replied surprisingly gently. “But yes, I do.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Hermione felt the irrational desire to slap him. Angering an alpha, especially one who could obviously overpower her—so any alpha really—was not in her best interests.

“So, what do you what?” she prompted.

His level gaze might have been a burning glare for all the will power it took for her to continue to meet it. “I’d like to court you.”

That had not been what she expected. He was a pureblood Slytherin. She had expected a demand for sexual favors in order to keep her secret or at least blackmail of some kind. His answer startled her into candor.

“Why? I’m a bushy-haired mudb…”

“Do _not_ ,” he took an aggressive step forwards then seemed to catch himself. “Do not,” he said insistently but with a lower volume, “call yourself that.”

Hermione just stared at him.

Nott let out a long sigh. “My father is in Azkaban, and my mother is dead. I am the head of my family, and I do not care what your lineage is. It sickens me that you have become so inured to that cruel epithet that you would use it to self-identify.”

His eloquence registered despite her shock, and Hermione filed it away for future contemplation.

“I would like to court you, Hermione,” Nott said. “You do not know me well, but I think you know enough to believe that I have considered this from every angle before I decided to approach you.”

She did not know him well. He had always been a quiet non-presence behind Malfoy and even without the other Slytherin present usually made no effort to bring attention to himself. Even in Arithmancy, which they shared without Malfoy, he was hardly effusive. But he was undeniably intelligent, perhaps enough to give even her a run for her galleons. She could easily believe that he introspective enough to know the consequences of what he wanted.

“Is it because I am an omega?”

“That is part of it.” Theo did not want to start with a lie. “But not in the way you believe. Many pureblood alphas would consider you a prize to be taken and controlled. I cannot stand the thought of seeing you subjugated in that manner.”

His low voice and silver tongue were starting to do interesting and warm things to her stomach despite her nerves. Hermione surreptitiously clenched her thighs and tried to concentrate.

“What do you want instead?”

“I have said. I want to court you. Not to claim or assert my right to you.”

He hated that she winced at that, but laws regarding omegas were not kind. She was unmated, and he was an alpha. According to the law, it was his right to claim her in any way he wished. Any other alpha would already have taken the growing arousal he could smell blossoming on her skin as consent.

“What… what does courting entail?” Hermione asked timidly.

“For a start, you might call me Theo.”


	3. Discretion

“That can’t be all,” Hermione squinted at the alpha suspiciously. He did not comment on how cute she looked with her nose wrinkled like that.

“Well, with your permission I would also like to call you Hermione,” Theo teased lightly.

She glared and his smile softened. “I do not expect you to let me escort you to lavish restaurants or shower you with exotic gifts. I would like to sit with you in the library sometimes. I have no wish to draw attention to you, to us, so I believe that is the least conspicuous way to speak with you outside class. Perhaps, if when the first Hogsmeade weekend arrives you feel comfortable enough, you will agree to accompany me.”

It was hard to say why Hermione felt at once so suspicious and so ready to trust him. She knew almost nothing about Theo, only that his father had been a Death Eater, and that he had been very careful not to scare her with his approach.

Hermione tried, really, really hard to find a loophole or innuendo or something in his words, but truly it did not sound like he wanted anything she was generally unwilling to give. That he was a Slytherin she did not know well made her uncomfortable, but then at this point, every alpha she did not know well made her feel similarly.

 “That…” Hermione hesitated because she did not want to commit herself. “That is probably acceptable.”

 He smiled at her. Hermione felt her heart begin to do ridiculous things and quickly looked away. _It’s just biology_ , she told herself sternly. Her visceral reaction was beyond her control, but she didn’t have to encourage it.

“I have to go back to the common room for my potions book,” Theo said softly when she looked ready to go back to her book. “But I’ll be in the library after dinner. Have a good day Hermione.”

He pulled apart her wards with relative ease—she comforted herself with the fact that she hadn’t been trying to hold them together nor had she cast them to keep someone in—and left. It was only after he was out of sight that Hermione realized he had not asked her to join him in the library. It was an request, not a demand, left entirely to her discretion. He hadn't even pushed her by making it a question. If she wanted, she could easily avoid him with the knowledge of where he would be. He knew it and was giving her a chance to come to him on her own terms.

Something warm fluttered behind her ribs. Hermione did not analyze it too closely but reopened her textbook to continue reading.     

She rejoined Harry and Ron in time for lunch before they all trouped down to the dungeons together. Their last class on Fridays was double Potions. Harry seemed to have developed at least a mild appreciation for the subject now, though Ron still hated it. But his great ambition was still to be an Auror with Harry, so he stuck it out. Hermione wasn’t so sure that after the war Harry really wanted to be an Auror anymore—she flinched as an unexpected thought surfaced. It didn’t matter if Harry wanted to be an Auror; he _couldn’t_. Omegas were not employed anywhere in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It wasn’t by choice either. Laws dating from before the Ministry’s creation explicitly prohibited their employment in that Department along with a slew of other authoritative positions.

The clang of Ron’s cauldron against the table brought her back into focus. Hermione sighed, glancing uncomfortably at Harry, before setting up her own station. She resolutely did not look at the Slytherin half of the room where she knew—the awareness tingled under her skin—Theo was standing.

Professor Slughorn started the lesson, but Hermione kept finding her eyes drawn back to Harry. He was picking at his left sleeve and scratching idling and his eyes kept darting away from the board and across the room.

“Harry,” Hermione hissed, low enough to avoid Ron’s hearing. “What’s wrong?”

He startled more than she expected, smoothed down the sleeve of his robe, then scratched his arm again. “Nothing. Just… Malfoy keeps looking at you.”       

Her eyes went to the Slytherin side of the room before she could catch herself. Malfoy was watching her, silver eyes appraising her with something like mild interest. He wasn’t sneering or leering or anything else obvious, but he was looking. When she met his eyes, his expression didn’t shift though Hermione blushed as scarlet as her Gryffindor badge. She quickly looked away, but not before she realized who he was sitting next to. Ice dropped painfully into her stomach.

What had Theo said? Did Malfoy know what she was? Had he noticed himself? Hermione realized she didn’t even know if Malfoy was an alpha. Unlike some people she could mention, she did not spend all of her time stalking blond Slytherins, even if he was up to no good.

When Professor Slughorn set them loose, Hermione worked through her potion like an automaton. Most of her thoughts were occupied with all the things that could go wrong if Malfoy decided to make an issue out of her gender. Omegas were not well regarded, not as much more than sex toys anyways, and alphas had a lot of leeway in their actions, both in societal expectations and worse, legal rights. 

If her Draught of Lucidity was a little more robin’s egg blue than sky blue when they handed in samples, it was only because she was less than perfectly lucid herself. She recognized the irony and focused on gathering all of her materials rather than prodding the boys about theirs. Harry, who had been glancing at her all through class, now started glancing at Ron as if wondering how to escape so that they could chat, just the two of them. Thankfully Ron did not seem to notice the silence as they headed upstairs to dinner. Without prompting he began expounding the virtues of the Cannon’s new keeper, which Hermione could have sworn was the same topic he had thoroughly exhausted before she escaped during free period.

“Potter!” a sharp voice called.           

Both Harry and Hermione came up involuntarily short at the authoritative tones in that voice and turned to see Malfoy walked hurriedly after them.

“Malfoy,” greeted Harry less than invitingly. 

If his hostility was noted, it was not mentioned. Malfoy held out a book.

“You left your potions text in Slughorn’s classroom,” Malfoy explained, a little unnecessarily Hermione thought. “I said I would return it to you.”

Slughorn was many things, but sensitive to the disagreements and rivalries of his students he was not. He would not have blinked at a Slytherin promising to return a Gryffindor’s belongings. Harry, however, was not so trusting.

 “Thank you,” he said sharply to Malfoy, reaching out quickly to take the book.

 If she hadn’t been watching Hermione would have missed it. Harry’s fingers brushed Malfoy’s as he grabbed the spine of the book, and a full body shiver erupted from his arm outwards. It was gone in an instant, Harry’s expression as smooth as a statue. But Hermione had spent six months in a tent with him while on the run for their lives. She knew was fear looked like on Harry.

 “Th, thank you,” Harry repeated numbly.

 Malfoy’s calm expression was flawless. “You’re welcome, Potter.” He hesitated then said, “Granger,” tilting his head minutely in her direction.

 Harry quickly turned back up the stairs and bolted like a nundu was at his heels, almost dragging Hermione behind him by his sudden grip on her wrist. She caught only a glimpse of Malfoy’s sharp, knowing expression, but it was enough to confirm her suspicions.

Ron had disappeared somewhere, probably had not stopped when Malfoy called Harry back, so Hermione didn’t bother attempting to be discreet as she pulled Harry into an empty classroom once they were nearing the Great Hall. Mirrored in his wide green eyes was her own shock and worry, though there was something else there too. 

“He’s an alpha, Hermione,” her best friend spat as soon as she had cast _muffliato_ on the door. Then he groaned, slapping both hands over his eyes and sinking despairingly into a chair. “Of course, Malfoy’s a fucking alpha. Why did I expect anything else?” Merlin, of all the students it had to be Malfoy. But then wasn’t it always. He felt like Fate’s fucking chew toy. Something—nerves or maybe… no definitely nerves—twisted in Harry’s gut thinking about Malfoy and Fate. 

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Hermione just sat down next to him in silent solidarity. Then, recalling potions, she asked, “Do you think maybe he was looking at you not me during class?”

Harry groaned louder. “Oh god”—he only cursed like a muggle around Hermione, never around Ron she had noticed— “I didn’t even think of that. Do you think he could tell?”

As much as she wanted to comfort him, she wasn't optimistic. “If you could tell that his gender before you’ve even fully come into yours, I think he probably does. Even if he couldn’t smell it yet, you shivered when you touched him. That was a pretty strong indicator.”  

“Bloody hell,” Harry whispered. “Both him and Nott. Is it a pureblood thing?”

“No,” said Hermione. “And Theo seems nice.”

Harry pulled his face out of his hands long enough to squint suspiciously at her. “Theo? You called him Nott yesterday. And how would you know whether he is nice or homicidal?”

“He…” Hermione swallowed, unsure if her nerves were over Theo or Harry’s reaction. “He found me during free period to… talk. He knows I’m… he said he wants to court me, but he was pretty nice about it.”

Plainly unconvinced, Harry raised an eyebrow. “I know you don’t think I study enough, Hermione, but I have read about an omega’s rights once they have accepted an alpha. Or the alpha’s rights over the omega, at least. You can’t trust him.”

 “I don’t,” she snapped. “But… he let me cast the privacy wards and didn’t try to touch me. I… I can’t see the harm in just meeting him in the library.”

Harry sighed unhappily though he was plainly resigning himself to her choice. “At least tell me when you’re going to meet him. And be careful.”

“Harry James Potter, who exactly kept you alive for ten months during the war?” She did not need his coddling.

 He winced. “Right. Sorry. Of course, you will be.”

 It was impossible to be frustrated with him for long when he looked like a kicked puppy. Hermione reach out to rub his shoulder, “Oh Harry…”

 The chair he had occupied thudded backwards onto the floor with Harry in it almost before she could touch him. Hermione jerked her arm back as Harry stared at her with wide-eyed horror. He breathed heavily for a moment before carefully picking himself up off the ground. “Right. Sorry, it’s just… being touched today… I don’t like it.”

 Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Have you been to see Madame Pomfrey yet?”

 “No. You said three weeks, which isn’t until Sunday.”

 She rolled her eyes. “That’s not a hard and fast rule, idiot. Come on. There’s still time before dinner. I think you shouldn’t be in the dorms tomorrow.”

_______________________

“Where did you vanish to after Potions?” Theo asked as Draco dropped his bag on the floor beside his bed. His friend looked almost dazed, and when he spoke, it was not an answer to Theo’s question.

“Potter is an omega.”


	4. Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was helpfully pointed out that I sometime forget where in the story I have added certain plot points and I go on to contradict them. The story is written chapter by chapter so I miss details. Please feel free to point out contradictions so I can fix them. Many thanks to those who already have.

“It is a good thing that Miss Granger brought you to see me, Mr. Potter. It isn’t safe for a new omega to be running around on the cusp of heat.”

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably on the hospital bed while Madam Pomfrey bustled about carrying potions and occasionally tapping him with her wand. Apparently, the colorful swirls she got following the spells meant something important, but they were just color to Harry. 

“I have not set up an isolation room for you before. Is this your first heat?” Madam Pomfrey asked briskly. Harry’s cheeks felt hot. Well really, he felt pretty hot in general, and Merlin wept did he want out of his uncomfortable uniform. He started to scratch his arm, and Hermione smacked his hand.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” he answered, glaring at his friend. She rolled her eyes at him.

“And you, Miss Granger,” the matron said observantly. “You haven’t been to see me, but I can see that you are a fairly new omega as well.”

Hermione straightened abruptly. “How? I thought… I’ve been trying to hide it.”

“When you have seen as many young omegas as I have, you don’t need a scent to identify them,” Madam Pomfrey said gently. “You needn’t panic. Your scent is well concealed. Though you, Mr. Potter…”

“How do you hide a scent?” Harry asked, realizing this was probably something he should have already asked Hermione. Though it wasn’t as if he had recognized Malfoy as an alpha by scent. Or vise versa. He hoped.

“The most critical action is to frequently remove your scent from your skin,” the matron said. “Shower every morning with unscented soap.”

“You shouldn’t use anything marketed as disguising a scent,” Hermione offered. “That’s just advertising that you have something to hide.”

“You should also avoid arousal in public,” Madam Pomfrey continued, blithely ignoring Harry’s scarlet flush with the ease of years of practice at addressing awkward students. “That will make your scent immediately return to your skin even if you have just washed. And when your heat is approaching, it may be necessary to cover your scent with perfume. Though with this being your first heat, your scent has not yet settled into a distinct pattern.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, really wanting this conversation to be over. “Ok, so be clean, no getting aroused in public, and buy cologne”—he was not buying perfume, he had some standards of masculinity even if Hermione would laugh at him for being fragile— “to hide my scent. Can I go now?”

Madam Pomfrey gave him a dubious look. “You are not going anywhere, Mr. Potter. Your first heat will begin within the next twelve hours. I will have dinner brought for you, and Miss Granger if she would like to stay to keep you company, but you will not be leaving until Monday at the earliest.”

Harry rubbed his arm, wishing his robes off. “It will last for two days?” he asked plaintively. Maybe whinged just a bit.

Next to him Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Harry, I thought you’d read about this.”

“I did!” he snapped defensively. “But there wasn’t anything about how long heats last. All the bloody books just say that if an omega is unmated, they should find an alpha to ‘service them’ to make heat bearable. And that’s… I won’t!”

“Heat as an unmated omega is unpleasant,” Madam Pomfrey said calmly, “but it is not unbearable. You will want to relieve the symptoms yourself. If you do not have a dildo, I can…”

“What!” Harry leaped off the bed, his hands curling into fists defensively. “No, I don’t have a, a dildo!”

“You’re going to want one,” Hermione muttered, trying not to laugh at his outrage, and he swung around to glare at her. “First heats can last anywhere from 36 hours to eight days.”

“Eight days!” Harry’s mouth fell open even as his stomach plummeted. 

“I will transfigure one of the duration,” the hospital matron continued unphased. “And set up your heat room. In the meantime, if you and Miss Granger would like to eat dinner in my office, Mr. Potter, you might try to calm down.”

Feeling sick and almost as if he were going to burst into hysterical tears, Harry walked towards the office without a word. Hermione hopped off the bed to follow him. She shut the door behind them so they could talk privately over the meals that the house elves had obviously left for them.

“The universe hates me,” Harry said sullenly.

Under other circumstance Hermione would have hugged him, but right now she knew he would not appreciate her touch. “Do you want me to tell Ron?” she offered.

“Fuck,” Harry’s throat closed. “I didn’t even… do we have to tell him?”

Hermione hesitated. “No, but he’ll figure out something is up eventually. I could tell him that you got hit with one of the magic fluctuations from the old wards, but that excuse won’t work every time.” Though a handful of students had been sent to the hospital wing from ambient magic discharges caused by the lingering fragments of wards shattered during the battle, they were not frequent occurrences.

Harry forced himself to take a long breath. “No. Would you just tell him in private? I don’t need the entire Tower knowing.”

“Of course, Harry.”

Something sharp and biting twisted in his chest. “Thanks, Hermione. And if he doesn’t take it well, just… don’t try to make it better. He was my first friend, but you’re my best friend.”

“Harry Potter, you have no idea how much I want to hug you right now.”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Maybe on Monday.”

They ate mostly in silence after that, Hermione occasionally slapping Harry’s hands to keep him from scratching. Once heat actually hit, all the sensitivity would coalesce in a few particular areas, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate additional rawness when he came back to himself.

Madam Pomfrey collected Harry once they were finished eating to escort him to his isolation room. Hermione opted not to follow because she suspected that Harry was going to be embarrassed enough by the matron’s explanations about the objects in the room without her presence. Instead she collected both her bag and Harry’s—she shrunk the latter and added it to her satchel to avoid questions—and headed for the door.

“Hermione,” said Harry just as she was about the leave. His expression twisted. “Just… be careful of… you know.”

“I will be, Harry, don’t worry. Send me a message when you’re feeling better and I’ll bring a clean set of robes for you. So, you don’t have to get back to the dorm smelling like…”

“Like a bitch in heat,” he finished sourly.

She winced. “Harry.”

He waved her away with characteristic Potter fatalism. “Go on, Hermione. I’ll see you next week.”

Hermione closed the door to the hospital wing and headed for the library. The path was automatic, so she was halfway there before she remembered why Harry had told her to be careful. Freezing in her tracks, she tried to ignore the warm interest that tugged in her chest. She would be rational about this even if nothing else about the situation was rational.

“It’s the library,” she told herself, closing her eyes. “He can’t do anything in the library. You’re just going to study. With an alpha sitting at the same table. You survived Bellatrix Lestrange. For Merlin’s sake, get a grip.”

Her pep talk was only marginally successful in calming her nerves, but Hermione was determined not to be put off her usual habit because of some boy, whatever he smelled like. She entered the library, nodding politely to Madam Pince, and trying hard not to let her breathing get out of control. He had no right to make her so nervous. That didn’t change the fact that he definitely did.

Theo was not hard to find. In fact, he was sitting at her usual table, in the chair next to the one she favored. Hermione hovered on the periphery for a moment, very aware of her hair, her scent, and the fact that he probably knew she was standing right there. Had he been watching her, or was she just such a creature of habit that it was obvious which chair she liked? Theo hadn’t looked at her, but something had shifted in his posture that made her certain he was aware of her presence. It was the knowledge of his awareness that finally gave her the courage to move her legs. She was not a coward. She wasn’t. It was just…

“Hello Hermione,” he said gently. 

His warm voice tingled along her spine as she set down her bag and pulled out the chair. “H, hello Theo,” she managed relatively smoothly.

“Would you like to join me doing the Runes translation or do you have something else to work on?” 

Slowly he drew her out by talking about a subject she found relaxing: homework. It was hard not to relax when there was someone who seemed genuinely interested in talking to her about actual subject material. Though when she stopped to consider it, Hermione found that a bit suspicious. 

Before she had quite thought it through, and consequently censored herself, she demanded, “Are you actually interested in how I apply Anglo-Saxon variants to translate Elder Futhark or are you just sucking up?”

Theo looked up at her in surprise as Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. Mortification stained her cheeks scarlet. 

“I’m sorry…” she started miserably, visibly curling into herself, but Theo cut her off.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice was not harsh. “Has someone done that to you?”

Hermione swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady and hold back ashamed tears. She wasn’t sure where the question had come from. “S, sort of. R… in sixth year, there was one boy who would pretend he found what I was saying interesting, but ten minutes later he didn’t know what I’d been talking about.” Even now that he had rejected her, as much as he could, given their respective genders, it felt wrong to speak of Ron this way.

“Weasley isn’t intelligent enough even to pretend properly,” Theo said firmly, and Hermione flushed redder at being caught.

For a moment Theo watched her without speaking again before he slowly extended his hand, giving her ample time to pull away. Hermione watched as he carefully took her hand from the table and stroked the back with his thumb. The warmth his touch sent up her arm was so comforting that almost without her permission her shoulders began to relax. Focused on the sensation of his skin she almost missed his next words.

“I will not feign interest in your pursuits, Hermione. I do not need to. You are brilliant, and I am genuinely fascinated by your use of Anglo-Saxon methods for Elder Futhark. I am not doing this because you… because I want anything from you.”

“I’m sor…” she started again.

“No,” Theo said sharply but very deliberately without alpha inflection. “If your experience has led you to believe that that is how boys act then I cannot fault you for the question however much I would like you not to think of me as a boy.”

Hermione dropped her eyes to her parchment. “I don’t,” she told her quill. The hand holding hers continued its gentle rhythm.

“Thank you.” She looked up to see him smile and quickly looked away to control the flutter of butterflies trying to escape her stomach. That smile was dangerous, to her control at least, and Hermione was determined that at least on normal days she would control herself. “I shall endeavor not to act like one.”

“You haven’t,” she quickly assured him. “I wondered if you would say something but in potions even Malfoy was quiet…” that reminded her. “Does, er, does Malfoy know about…”

“Is he aware of your gender or of my desire to court you?”

“Both.”

“He knows,” Theo said gently. “If he is not polite, please tell me and I will speak to him. If you don’t wish to simply break his nose in response.”

She smiled despite the returning color to her cheeks. “That was one time.”

Theo grinned, “Perhaps, but he complained about it for months. Over the summer too.”

“Does staring count as being impolite?” asked Hermione presently.

“You mean today while we were brewing. I don’t think that was his intent. You… your scent is not obvious, and there was…” Theo hesitated, searching for delicate phrasing, “it is difficult to ignore the scent of a new omega, especially when it is concealed as well as yours.”

Hermione was not a new omega, not that new anyways, having already had a heat. Malfoy had not been paying attention to her scent, nor had Theo if he thought the new omega was her. Hermione resolved firmly that she would teach Harry everything she knew about hiding his scent when his heat was over. Apparently, an alpha’s sense of smell was more acute than her own. Harry's scent was not yet powerful or distinct enough that she could smell him over the aroma of simmering potions never mind across the room.

“If it bothers you, I will ask him…”

“No,” Hermione said, gently taking her hand from Theo’s to smooth down her curling parchment. “If he wasn’t being rude, it’s fine. Could you hand me the Vaksala dictionary, please?”

Theo did as requested and let the subject drop. If he thought she was uncomfortable with the thought of Malfoy scenting her, all the better. She did not want him prying; Harry had little enough privacy, and while she thought she could easily grow to like Theo, she did not trust him. Not yet anyways.

When Madam Pince prowled by their table to announce the library closing, Hermione helped Theo shelve the books he had obtained for them. They strolled about of the library together and paused on the landing where Hermione would head up to the Gryffindor Tower and he would go down to the dungeons. Hermione gathered her vaunted courage.

“I like to work on potions revision in the practice rooms on Saturday afternoons,” she said as casually as possible. “Just after lunch. Good night, Theo.”

He smiled the dangerous smile that made her react in ways she she desperately tried not to analyze. Her perfume would not cover everything even with her next heat several weeks away. Theo's voice was nearly a purr as he departed.

“Good night, Hermione.”


	5. Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating has been updated given the contents of this chapter.

“Mooncalf,” said Hermione to the Fat Lady. The portrait swung open obligingly.

Pulling herself through the portrait hole, Hermione barely had a moment to glance around the common room before Ron’s petulant voice greeted. 

“Merlin, ‘Mione, where’ve you been? You missed dinner. And where’s Harry?”

Any hope Hermione had had for a moment to compose her speech vanished. She sighed heavily. She should have known that Ron would feel they had abandoned him—it wasn’t as if he was capable of holding a conversation during dinner anyways, not with the way he stuffed his face—though she and Harry had been absent for only one meal.

“Library,” she gave her customary answer. “Come on, Ron, I need to talk to you.”

Without waiting to see if he was following—whatever else Ron Weasley might be he was predictable—she marched up the boys’ side of the tower to the Eighth-year dorm. A flight up Ron’s heavy tread joined hers on the spiral stair.

She knew which Harry’s bed was before she arrived, but even if she hadn’t it would have been obvious from the scent. Harry might not yet have a strong scent day to day but the sheets he had been sleeping in were unmistakably permeated with the warm, slightly sweet scent that was both familiar and put her slightly on edge. Thank goodness none of his dormmates had presented as alphas though she suspected that Neville hadn’t yet presented at all.

Though her self-preservation instincts insisted that it was dangerous to be around an omega so close to heat, Hermione sat down on Harry’s bed anyway. Then she flicked her wand at the door, locking it behind Ron.

He scowled. “I thought you decided that I’m not manly enough to sleep with,” Ron snapped, folding his arms petulantly across his chest.

Circe, Merlin, and Morgana, it was going to be that conversation again. Already the headache was blooming in her temples.

“It has nothing to be with your masculinity,” Hermione said as levelly as she could. “And the way I recall the conversation, I had barely informed you of my gender when you stormed off.”

Ron just glared. She took a slow breath trying to stay calm. There was a specific purpose for this. She just had to tell him about Harry, and she could go to bed. It had been a long day. To think that this morning she had had no idea that she might actually enjoy being around a Slytherin, and an alpha no less.

“Harry’s in the hospital wing,” she said bluntly just to see Ron’s eyes widen. Then she continued just as bluntly, because this was Ron and subtlety was not exactly a trait Weasleys had in abundance, “He’s going to be there at least until Monday. He presented as an omega and his first heat is starting.”

Ron was—or maybe had been—her friend, so trying not to snicker while he gaped like a particularly dim troll was probably not her finest moment. Hermione contained the bubbling laughter even as she braced for the backlash she knew was coming. Ron did not disappoint.

“He’s a slut too, then?”

That was harsher than she had anticipated even from Ron. Hermione winced. “Omegas aren’t…” she started.

“Yeah right,” Ron sneered, vicious in his misery. “He’ll probably open his legs for the first alpha he sees. If he isn’t a prude like you.”

Pointing out that they could not be both sluts and prudes would get her nowhere. She didn’t really want to be talking to him at all.

“It’s not like Harry chose this,” she snapped.

“Yeah, and he didn’t choose to be the fucking Chosen One either, yet he’s still the fabulous Boy Who Lived,” Ron spat. “Now he’s too good to be a beta and has to have all the attention. Fucking omega!”

Ron’s mouth curled unattractively—had she really found him so good looking in sixth year, she honestly couldn’t remember why—as his voice rose to a shout.

“He’s such a fucking pussy. I always knew he wouldn’t be a proper man! Now all he’s good for is being a bitch…”

His mouth kept moving though no more words actually escaped. Hermione had not moved her wand, but she had silenced him all the same. There were limits to the drivel she would suffer listening to, especially if Ron was going to bad mouth Harry.

“I suggest you stay away from him then, if you feel so strongly,” she said softly with an edge of fury behind her words. “You can go argue with the wild magic if you want to be an omega so badly. I’m sure there’s an alpha somewhere who would accept a rude, cowardly narcissist. Good night, Ronald.”

Leaving him glaring impotently, Hermione went down the stairs, crossed the common room, and went to bed.  
____________________

If he had been asked the night before what Harry had anticipated from his first heat—and later, he was relieved that no one had—the answer would have included some expectation that he would be aware of his situation. He thought there would be a transitional period of growing arousal moving into unbearable horniness.

He had not slept well, and when he woke, he wasn’t himself. Harry did not recognize this, aware only of the too fast pulse of his heartbeat and the demanding tension in his groin. For a moment, just one, he resisted moving and lay staring at the dull ceiling of his room. Then, almost without his permission, his right hand curled around his achingly stiff cock.

The shock of the first touch made him whimper as his arousal surged to the forefront of his attention and quickly blocked every other thought. Harry shuddered as he stroked himself almost absently. He was so hot, and there was a persistent sharp ache in his low abdomen that he was sure would go away if he could just…

He came quickly, and nothing was better. He was still too hot, too sensitive. Harry moaned, rolling onto his side and away from the puddle which had almost nothing to do with his orgasm. His cock was still hard, and now he could feel how wet he was, how desperate. Merlin help him, he needed something, something more. He needed… Merlin he needed so very badly.

Every movement was excruciating as his sensitive skin magnified every twitch and shudder against the cotton sheets. He was not even sure he was conscious as he drifted in a haze of growing lust and discomfort. His cock burned. He didn’t want to touch it. He had to touch it. But fuck, he wished it were someone else, anyone else with their hand wrapped around his throbbing length. He would have let anyone touch him if they would just make the heat in his groin stop growing. If they would just fill the maddening emptiness, he would let anyone fuck him. Well not just anyone, not really.

The soft glans of his penis pulsed under his hand as he finished again no more satisfyingly than the first time. He was so empty, aching, ready to plead and beg to be filled. Heat washed through him at the thought as more slick rushed down his thighs. Without hesitation, though it was his first time in more ways than one, he slid a finger into his arse up to the third knuckle, pressing in deep and fast. 

He had never felt anything so good, so right, and yet so completely inadequate. Harry moaned brokenly, desperately working in a second and then a third finger, gasping and crying out with every push into his dripping arse. His wrist ached, but he only fucked himself harder on his fingers, still empty and frantic. His balls throbbed and clenched as he searched for his prostate, and his cock pulsed feebly for a third time, twitching under the insistent pull of his right hand.

Unbidden, the images that seemed only natural in this state flashed behind his eyes. Harry imagined being stretched out on the bed just as he was now, only he is not alone. Here his skin touched another sweating body, and the hard line of a thick cock pressed against his arse. His nose and mouth were full of a strong scent, not overpowering, not the same cloying sweetness of his slick, but rich and fragrant and perfect. The slide of demanding hands on his wrists, preventing him from touching himself made him whimper. Harry was begging, out loud, pulling harder at his oversensitive erection.

The dildo on the table when he finally saw it seemed impossibly far away, but he wanted it so badly. His arse clenched tightly around his inadequate hand, and Harry bit his lip to keep from crying at the empty raw need that only someone else could satisfy. He lunged for the dildo and sank it to the hilt in his arse without preamble.

Immediately he arched the stretch, hips thrusting high as his poor stinging cock sought relief and he fucked himself with the toy. As the pressure inside him made his entire body rush with heat, Harry mewled, need overwhelming every sense. He was stroking himself too hard. He wasn’t stroking hard enough. His cock was completely spent. His cock was impossibly hard and eager. He bit into his pillow to stem the distressed cries, still begging, pushing back onto the length of the fake cock, grinding it into his slick arse.

“Please,” Harry begged, insensible to the world. “Oh god, please fuck me.”

He twisted the hard cock inside him, gripping his reddened erection almost painfully. Heat grew in his abdomen, overwhelming everything as the acute ache low in his belly mixed with the sharp pleasure everywhere else. The dildo rolled inside him, searching and not yet finding.

Harry breathed in heavy, desperate pants. Skin sticky from sweat, semen, and slick, he ignored the burn in his cock and his wrist and fucked himself harder. It wasn’t enough; it wasn’t. He needed someone else to touch him, to make him stop burning with such raw, awful need. His chest ached with their absence as much as the rest of him ached with need. Lonely tears slid down his face, and he did not know if the sound he made next was a sob or a moan. The dildo swirled in his tender arse… closer… almost…

And there, that was the angle. He pressed the dildo hard into his prostate, thrusting once, twice.

His hazy world exploded, and Harry shattered with it. Every muscle, every fiber of his being seized up, his bare, slick legs locking, hand clamping cruelly tight under his glans, his arse clenching madly around the fake cock. His balls constricted, empty and spent, and Harry howled at the pleasure-pain of coming completely dry. 

Then he floated.


	6. Integration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed so feel free to point out typos/plot or continuity errors/ etc.

“Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry softly as she handed over the clean robe and a complete change of clothes and his wand. He disappeared behind the curtains to put them on. Madam Pomfrey had insured that he had had a shower when he came out of isolation, so hopefully he wouldn’t alert every alpha he passed that he was… what he was.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked from the far side of the curtain.

He was feeling a lot of things most of which he did _not_ want to discuss with his female best friend. Harry grunted and said shortly, “Fine.” 

He buttoned his uniform shirt was mostly steady fingers. Madam Pomfrey had assured him that the last of the lingering symptoms would disappear by lunchtime, but he was loath to spend any more time in the isolation room even if he did feel uneasy in his new skin. It was already Wednesday morning.

When Harry emerged from the curtain, Hermione leaned in a gave him a quick sniff. Harry made a face but permitted the inspection.

“You’ll do, I think,” said Hermione, “but you should definitely shower again tonight. I ordered some new soap for you.”

“Thanks,” he said dully.

Hermione peered at his face. “Are you sure you’re okay Harry?

He wanted to glare at her, to snap that he was fine, but he knew she meant it kindly. “No,” said Harry. “But I’m sick of the hospital wing, and I’m not in heat anymore. Just, I feel…”

“I know,” Hermione hugged him, and Harry squeezed her back, trying to let her familiar yet new scent calm him. “Come on, let’s go down to breakfast. I told everyone but Ron that you got hit with a magic fluctuation. Seeing as it is you, no one batted an eye.”

Harry snorted without amusement. “Yeah, no one would.”

Sure enough, Dean and Neville greeted him as though nothing extraordinary had happened. Harry filled his plate with eggs and bacon and mushrooms, suddenly ravenous. Still, he did his best not to eat like Ron, four places down, who was stuffing his mouth so quickly that Harry genuinely wondered how he was managing to breath. Next to him, Hermione filled a goblet with pumpkin juice and pushed it at him.

“You lost a lot of fluid,” she said under her breath.

He was terribly thirsty, Harry realized around a mouthful of eggs, and he drained his goblet in a few long swallows. Hermione refilled it for him.

“I brought all your books from the tower,” she said. “We’ve got an essay due in Defense, but I’m pretty sure Opius”—that was the temporary Professor on loan from the Ministry’s Aurors who was uncomfortably smitten with Harry—“will give you a pass. Charms on Monday was lecture only, so you’re only really behind in Herbology and Transfigurations tomorrow.”

Hermione’s voice washed over him, her scholastic recitation soothing in its normalcy. Harry stopped eating long enough to check his bag for his books—why he felt he needed to when Hermione had packed it bespoke his lingering paranoia—and to flick through his parchments. “Thanks,” he muttered, grateful but still tired and twitchy.

“Come on,” his best friend shouldered her bag. “We don’t want to be late.”

Flitwick likely wouldn’t care if they were a minute or two behind. Nevertheless, Harry followed dutifully, aware for every glance that crossed his skin as they left the Great Hall. Very consciously he did not look towards the table with green hangings, just followed Hermione to Charms.

__________________________

True to her word, after lunch when they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom Opius did not even ask for Harry’s essay. The young—relatively speaking—Auror just grinned and clapped Harry on the shoulder reminding him uncomfortably of Lockhart.

“Of course, we can’t expect The Boy Who Lived to turn in his homework after the wards got him,” he exclaimed.

Harry sent a look at Hermione who shrugged. If Madam Pomfrey had spread the same story to the story to the staff, who were they to contest it.

“Thanks sir,” said Harry.

“Now, Harry, I have told you to call me Sigmund,” said Opius with a grin. His sharp smell swirled around Harry, pungent and unwelcome, the smell of an unmated, unwanted alpha.

Harry shrugged off his hand without reply and went to join Hermione at their desk in the back. It was Hermione so she couldn’t abide goofing off in class, but it was also Defense so neither of them really felt the need to pay strict attention. A year of war had relaxed Hermione’s school mania sufficiently that she no longer panted after the professor’s attention. Harry winced at the thought. If she did that now, she would be labeled worse than teacher’s pet if her designation were realized.

It wasn’t as though either of them needed to practice advance shielding anyways, Harry thought as he paired off with Neville. Hermione stood opposite Dean, and really neither Gryffindor needed much practice either. Harry did not look at Ron, not after the reaction Hermione had related. If any among them needed the practice it was Ron, but Harry did not feel particularly altruistic at the moment. Ron could learn on his own especially since he couldn’t been arsed to learn during the war. To learn when it had mattered.

Harry wanted Defense to drag, but even with Opius breathing down his neck encouraging him to try more and more elaborate variations of the shield and Ron glaring daggers at him, the two hours slipped through his fingers. Harry found himself heading down to the dungeons with Hermione almost before he had registered it. Then he dragged his feet.

Hermione noticed, her curled fluffing a little with irritation. “Come _on_ Harry.”

He gave her the best glare he could muster, which given that it was Hermione wasn’t much. “Not all of us are eager to see the Slytherins, Hermione.”

The hand she had around his wrist to pull him forward softened. “I don’t think they know, Harry. Something Theo said in the library on Friday about my scent being the new omega.”

He wanted to believe that, he really, really did, but Harry knew fate was not that kind. “Hermione, I touched Malfoy. He knows I’m an omega the same way I know he is an alpha. Nott may not know, but Malfoy does.”

For a moment they stood in silent commiseration. Then Hermione said, “It’ll be okay Harry.”

His laugh felt hollow though he knew she was sincere. “Yeah, sure it will.”

Hermione laced their fingers companionably and squeezed. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

As it turned out, Potions was so busy that neither of them had the chance to do more than glance that the Slytherins in question. Hermione managed a smile at Theo—Harry was still resolutely avoiding Malfoy’s eyes—before Slughorn set them frantically to work. Harry, who really quite liked Potions these days, crushed and chopped and shredded and ground his ingredients with intense focus half to distract himself and half because this potion was tricky, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted. By some twist of fate he escaped the dungeons with Hermione without having to look or speak to Drac… Malfoy.

The last of the twitchiness in his hands had faded before lunch, thankfully, but Harry still felt new in his skin. He stopped abruptly in the hall, halfway through following Hermione to the library.

“I think I’m going to go flying,” he said softly when she turned to see what kept him.

Hermione gave him a faintly amused smile. “I’ll meet you in the common room before dinner then.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, only half listening. “Sure.”

He made it to his dorm and out to the Quidditch Pitch before his brain had really caught up, but the moment his feet left the ground, Harry let at home in himself again. Whatever had changed in him, he was still Harry in the air. Here—on his new Firebolt purchased with his Order of Merlin money—he could be just Harry. Here he was free.

The crisp air streamed past his cheeks as Harry looped over the stands, feeling his way through flight. He wished absently for a snitch or bludger, something to chase, to direct his path of flight, but Madam Hooch kept all the balls locked up except during official practice. Not that that would stop him if he really wanted, but Harry didn’t feel particularly like breaking into her office today.

Harry was halfway through a series of Chaser maneuvers when a bright patch of gold near the base of the Ravenclaw stands caught his eyes. Nervously, with his wand clutched tightly under his robes, he drifted closer to the ground.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

The expected snipe did not come. Instead Dra… _Malfoy_ extended the hand clasped around a snitch. “I thought you might like a friendly game. One on one?”

What? Harry blinked unable to make his brain connect to his mouth for a startled moment. “Um,” he said articulately. Malfoy’s shoulders drooped.

“Look I understand if you don’t want to. I just thought we should… I dunno. I… I don’t hate you. I thought maybe we could…”

Still raw from the weekend’s hormones, Harry cut him off before something devastating like the word _friends_ could escape Draco’s mouth.

“Yeah, sounds fun,” he interrupted quickly. “I, uh, was just wishing for a snitch.”

Draco grinned at him, a little delicately, and without thinking Harry smiled back. Draco’s fingers opened. The snitch glinted briefly in the evening light and vanished upwards out of sight. Harry waited for Draco to mount his broom.

“Ready?” If his grin was warmer than he expected, Draco didn’t say anything.

“When you are, Potter.”

It was incredibly nice to fly with someone again. Harry hadn’t flown with another person since that disastrous encounter in the Room of Requirement. It had been Draco then too, he realized. But this was different. Obviously. There was no lethal spell fire after them, just two…er, well not friends exactly, but two companions flying companionably playing as if they were perfectly companionable.

Harry shook his head vigorously. Merlin he was getting sappy. Just because Draco—Merlin wept when the hell had he become _Draco_ —was acting nice didn’t have to mean that he wasn’t still an absolute git.

Only Harry didn’t want him to be a git. He wanted…

Across the pitch Draco went into a steep dive. Harry blinked, his heart beat faster, and he dived in response, leaning as far forward as he dared to make up ground. He could see Draco’s hair glinting in the light, almost a bright as the snitch they were chasing. The soft shine was mesmerizing, and Harry realized he was staring only when Draco pulled out of the dive, fingers clutched around the snitch with an odd expression.

“Bloody hell, Potter, are you feeling alright?”

He really wasn’t, or maybe he was? Harry didn’t know, but he knew that however he felt, it wasn’t exactly a bad thing. But he didn’t want Draco to know that.

“I let you win,” he said and regretted it immediately.

Draco’s face did an odd thing he couldn’t classify. His voice was a little harsher but still mostly relaxed now when he said, “Fuck you, Potter. You just don’t want to admit to losing.”

Harry shrugged. “Best two out of three?”

They played until the light was fading and Harry knew he had to meet Hermione for dinner. He landed in the center of the field, Draco landing next to them, and the snitch came down out of the clouds to settle in Draco’s hand. The Slytherin looked at him, waiting for some cue so Harry said, “Thanks for the game, Draco,” before he thought.

The blond brow that ticked upwards was so articulate that Harry flushed immediately. “Since when do you call me Draco, Potter?”

“Er,” said Harry. “I… you can call me Harry. If you want.” 

Draco turned slightly away from him, but Harry saw the smirk on his lips. “Not sure we’re there yet, _Potter_ , but you can keep calling me Draco. Good game.”

He crossed the field in the direction of the Slytherin locker rooms while Harry made himself turn back towards the castle. It wasn’t until he was stepping through the portrait into the common room that Harry realized he didn’t even know who had won.


	7. Predation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the updated tags. Nothing violent or very physical occurs but I don't want anyone to read something they don't want to. Unbetaed, all mistakes are mine if accidental.

“Hello Hermione,” Theo greeted her genially as he set down his collection of Herbology texts on their table.

“Mm? Oh, hello Theo,” said Hermione absently, mostly absorbed in her work. She dipped her quill in the inkpot and went to scratch out a sentence only for the blunt—chewed, though she was loath to admit such a habit—end to spatter ink across four lines of her neat writing.

“Tergeo,” said Theo calmly, siphoning off the offending stain. Hermione glanced up, trying to keep her blush from becoming noticeable, only for him to offer her a very nice quill across the table. It looked new she thought.

“I have another…” Hermione began.

Theo smiled gently and extended the feather again. “Please take it. You can consider it a courting gift if you like. Humble as it may be.”

It was only a quill to be sure, but humble… The feather was from a pheasant, long and slender with gold and black alternating bands and a hint on red along one edge towards the top. She pushed the calamus into her thumb and found that it was perfectly sharpened. The plume was evenly cut away from the rachis to fit her smaller hand. A simple gift perhaps but not particularly humble for its type. Hermione turned skeptical eyes on the giver.

Theo was smirking at her as if waiting for her to arrive at that conclusion. His dark eyes sparkled, almost daring her to contradict him. The sparkle promised mischief if she did.

As much as Hermione wanted to know what he would say, she didn’t quite feel up to starting that game with Theo. They had had a very pleasant— _very_ pleasant—few interactions; he had joined her in the potion practice rooms over the weekend and she had learned that he was not only excellent at preparing potions, he was also willing to give gentle, pointed instructions to younger students when they needed it. She had arrived earlier than stated out of a desire start brewing without the distraction of his attention only to find Theo already present, coaching a pair of second year Hufflepuffs through a tricky step of their recipe. Hermione didn’t think he could have had reason to expect her in that moment, but he had been patient and clear with the Hufflepuffs, both of whom thanked him with a sincerity that she did not believe could be faked.

“Thank you,” said Hermione simply, rather than rise to Theo’s bait. “Pheasant quills are my favorite.”

“I know,” said Theo.

The hot flush started to climb her face again. “You… I haven’t said.”

“You haven’t, but you have used pheasant quills since third year once you started going to Scrivenshaft’s in Hogsmeade.”

There could be no escape from the blush now. “You noticed what kind of quill I like.”

Theo carefully folded her hand into his grip and thankfully did not comment on the shiver that ran down her arm as he touched her. Hermione did her best to stomp on her arousal as it flared because damn it, touching hands should not be enough to make her this warm.

“I have noticed many things, Hermione. I like to watch people and to discover patterns. I won’t lie and tell you that I had any thought of courting you at the time, but I noticed that you like pheasant quills, that your feline is not a pet but a familiar, and that you had a Time Turner.” Hermione sucked in a startled breath only for Theo to continue. “I also noticed that Potter had been underfed at home, that Weasley was jealous of your familiar, and that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. I wasn’t just looking at you.”

Hermione blinked as she attempted to collect her jaw from the floor. “I… I can’t say I noticed very much about you.”

His smile was a little enigmatic now and also a little melancholy. “I wouldn’t have expected you to. I am a Slytherin. The Golden Girl of Gryffindor had no reason to notice me, and that suited me just fine. No, I mean it,” Theo squeezed her fingers. “You needn’t apologize for something that happened years ago, Hermione.”

Embarrassed and still a little hot under the collar, Hermione hesitantly gave Theo’s hand a return squeeze and withdrew her fingers to pick up the quill. She then deftly—bluntly—returned the conversation to safer topics.

“I found the Runes text you told me about on Saturday,” she said, planting the book between them as evidence.

The amused twist of Theo’s mouth said that he did not entirely buy her smooth—forced—evasion, but he turned his attention to the book willingly enough.

“I shouldn’t take credit for knowing Hofmann’s work. It was Draco who suggested him to me for this translation.”

Hermione blinked. “I… will you thank him for me then?”

He shrugged elegantly. “If you like.”

“Er, please do. But you were telling me about this particular passage…”

Their hour passed quickly enough before Hermione glanced at the darkening sky and realized she had to meet Harry. She collected her homework neatly into little organized piles and packed the books into her bag. Then she pushed her chair back and paused awkwardly still wrong footed about how to take leave of Theo.

“Er, I promised Harry I’d meet him in the common room before dinner,” she said.

Theo smiled at her in a manner that assured her both that he knew she felt uncomfortable and that he was not about to call her on it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hermione.”

She smiled back, genuinely if still with a touch of nerves, and took her leave. Hermione felt a nervous weight lift from her shoulders as she exited the library, but it was accompanied by the loss of the nice warmth in her stomach. Well, it hadn’t even been a week yet. She had to give it time.

Once Hermione was out of sight, Theo allowed the pleased, predatory grin to escape onto his face. She had accepted a courting gift from his hand. Not an expensive one to be sure, and unlike some alphas he wouldn’t consider a single gift binding, but it was a start. A very pleasing one at that.

_____________________

“You look… relaxed,” said Hermione as Harry came through the portrait hole clutching his broom.

Her friend flushed, then shrugged with all the nonchalance he could muster. “It… it was a good flight.”

“Mm,” she hummed noncommittally. “Well I’m starving. Hurry up putting your broom away.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Harry returned minus one Firebolt and plus one straightened robe. He certainly looked more at home in his skin, Hermione thought, which, good for him. If anyone deserved an easy time—not that anything about his gender was easy—it was Harry in her opinion.

“Are you feeling better?” Hermione asked as they confidently descended staircases towards the Great Hall.

“Yeah,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Flying… helped. And well, there was also…”

“Merlin, Granger, is it you who smells so bloody fuckable!”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks with Harry beside her. The glare she gave Zacharias Smith would have melted a lesser, less oblivious that is, wizard, but Smith seemed unfazed. He strutted towards them with the swagger of an alpha. Harry felt his lips draw back from his teeth in a half snarl.

Smith stepped too close to Hermione and gave her an exaggerated sniff. His eyes went wide. Looking cockily over his shoulder he announced loudly, “Well, I’ll be damned if you aren’t an omega too Granger, but it’s Potter who smells like a bloody brothel.”

Harry flushed hot, shame and anger warring for position in his chest.

“Piss off, Smith,” Hermione snapped, her spine frozen as she plainly refused to step back from him.

Smith’s smirk grew vulturine, dark and lustful. Hungry. “Why would I do that, Granger? When two unmated, _untouched_ omegas are standing here waiting for me so nicely.”  He stepped close to Hermione again, reaching up to cradle his cheek in his palm. “Would you like that, you little slut? Would you like to be fucked on my knot?”

Harry wanted to hit him. Hermione wanted to hit him. Her blood had run cold at his touch, the sweaty unwanted touch of an alpha she neither liked nor trusted. His pheromones stank in her nose. She wanted to punch him, to hex him, something, but his silky demanding voice made it hard to focus.

“You would like it wouldn’t you,” Smith continued. His voice grew commanding. “You want to come back to my dorm with me, don’t you? Right now.”

She did not, but she almost took a step forward before a sharp voice snapped, “Smith! Detention with Mr. Filch for the next month.”

Professor McGonagall strode into view, her mouth as thin as the Gryffindors had ever seen it.

“Professor,” Smith’s voice had instantly become a whinge.

“Two months. Get your hand off Miss Granger before I make it three. You will not harass you fellow classmates, am I understood. Touch or speak to them again in such a manner and I will have you scrubbing bedpans until you are my age.”

Hermione and Harry stood frozen as Smith slouched away. After a long moment, Hermione fished out a handkerchief and wiped her face where his hand had touched. She shivered belatedly.

Professor McGonagall eyed them, not unkindly. “Perhaps you had better come to my office you to.”

After all the drama with the Headmaster’s Office the previous few years, Professor McGonagall—who was Headmistress but still taught her classes and preferred to be called ‘Professor’—retained her office near her classroom. Into here, she shepherded Harry and Hermione. She settled them with biscuits and sat across from them, her mouth still very thin.

“Has Miss Granger or Madam Pomfrey explained how to shield your scent, Mr. Potter?” she asked bluntly.

Harry nearly spat out his ginger newt. “Er, y, yes, Professor. I thought…”

Hermione smacked a hand across her face. “You went flying,” she said.

“Well, um, yeah…”

“You went flying and _sweated_ ,” his best friend emphasized. “And didn’t shower in the locker rooms before coming back inside, did you?”

It hadn’t occurred to Harry that it could be that bad. The air had been cool, and he and Draco hadn’t worked that hard at their game. He hung his head, horrified that his carelessness almost got Hermione assaulted.

“I’m sorry Hermione.”

Her head jerked up. “What Smith did isn’t your fault Harry. Don’t let assh… arrogant alphas convince you that this is your fault.”

Professor McGonagall looked inclined to let Hermione’s almost swear pass. “While I agree with Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, you need to be aware of the consequences should an alpha assault you.”

“I know,” Harry began to grumble.

“Are you aware that if Mr. Smith had succeeded in knotting and biting either or both of you that you would legally belong to him?”

Harry watched the color drain from Hermione’s face and knew that he could not look much better. “That’s…” he managed before his throat closed.

The older woman’s eyes were sympathetic. “There is a reason that Hogwarts professors must either be mated or use pheromone blockers in order to teach here. I am not condoning the unwanted actions of any alpha, but the scent of an unmated omega can be very tempting. It is completely inappropriate for a teacher to react to it, but your agemates will undoubtedly do so if you are not both very careful. If you are claimed, if Mr. Smith bonds with you, there is nothing the staff can do to help you. While you are at Hogwarts, we can provide you a modicum of protection, but under the current laws, that is it, I’m afraid.”

Harry wanted to be sick. Hermione’s knuckles were blue where she was squeezing the seat of her chair.

“Are the laws really that bad, Professor?” she whispered. “I mean, I’ve read a few but…”

Professor McGonagall took a slow breath. “I will request a full copy of all gender laws from the Ministry for you to read Miss Granger. You should at least know what you are in for. In the meantime,” she pointed her wand at Harry who felt a harsh scrubbing sensation across his skin. It made him feel sensitive all over again, but he knew the incriminating scent was gone. “I suggest you and Mr. Potter return upstairs long enough to wash before dinner.”

“Wait Professor,” said Harry as she made to rise. “If you’re using a pheromone blocker”—the potion blocked the scent of others’ pheromones not the transmission of one’s own—“how did you know we’re both omegas?”

“I heard Mr. Smith’s bile, Mr. Potter. But Madam Pomfrey informed me of both your genders. She tells trustworthy staff in the hopes of preventing what happened to the two of you today.”

“Oh. And untrustworthy staff?”

Professor McGonagall’s look was almost pitying. “Miss Granger’s story about the ward discharge was believable. Be more careful with your scent Mr. Potter, and untrustworthy staff will not be a problem.”

“Come on Harry,” Hermione took his hand to pull him from the office. “I’d really like to get to dinner while it's still there."

“Right,” he followed numbly.

“And tomorrow,” Hermione said firmly, though he could still feel the tiniest of shivers where their fingers were laced, “tomorrow I’m going to read everything I can get my hands on about gender laws.”


	8. Sensation

“P… Harry could come with us, if you want,” said Theo. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would,” said Hermione, pretending annoyance to cover her nerves and not lifting her nose from the dusty law book disguised as an ancient charms text in her lap. “I’m not taking my best friend as a chaperone on a trip to Hogsmeade.”

The Slytherin smiled at her, self-deprecating and still a little too knowing for Hermione’s comfort. She still smiled back because sweet Circe it was a nice smile. She wanted to see it more often. She wanted to see it all the time. She wanted…

Hermione pinched her thigh under the cover of the book. She wanted a lot of things none of which would be useful to think about while sitting with the alpha who was courting her.

“What about the youngest Weasley? She could…” 

She appreciated what Theo was trying to do, she truly, honestly did, but Hermione was not a shrinking violet, nor, despite rumors, was dating truly all that new to her. “Theo,” she said, a touch sharply. “I do not want a chaperone. I am more than capable of hexing you myself if I decide it is necessary.”

 This smile had a little more teeth, and heat blossomed under Hermione’s collar. Still she did not back down. “I’ll meet you in front of the Great Hall after breakfast tomorrow. We can… we can see where it goes from there,” she decided finally.

 “Excellent,” Theo grinned at her. “I will see you tomorrow. Good night, Hermione.”

The way he purred her name made her wish, rather desperately, that he were not walking away in the direction of his dorm. She wanted…

Hermione shook her head clear for the second time in as many minutes and returned her focus firmly to the book in her lap. The Headmistress, true to her word, had provided the exhaustive collection of laws pertaining to wizarding genders for her to peruse. Hermione was about a third of the way through, and needless to say, she had not liked what she had found.

There were a number of laws with which she had already been familiar. For instance, she had known that omegas were not permitted to hold positions in the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This was distasteful but not in the grand scheme of things dangerous for either her or Harry. Then of course there were laws like the Registration Act of 1631 that made her want to waltz into the Ministry and curse the bollock off every alpha present. 

Thus far Hermione had discovered that, once they left school, she and Harry could be forced to mate with virtually any alpha who chose them without consequence, they were not allowed to hold jobs without the permission of their alpha, they could be fired for having to take time off for heats, and should they attempt to leave an alpha that claimed them, they could be sentenced to the Janus Thickey ward for hysteria and ‘behaviors endangering wizarding society’. The very idea made Hermione want to scream. For all the sexual discrimination in the wizarding world was almost nonexistent, gender discrimination was so rampant that she might have been living in the Dark Ages.

With a sigh, Hermione marked her place and closed the book. The library was closing soon, she was quite tired. The last thing she wanted was to seem bored tomorrow because she had not gotten enough sleep. She had just over seven and a half months remaining until NEWTS—the exact date down to the minute was charmed to flash at the top of her homework planner—which was not long, but it was enough time for her to formula a plan to combat these archaic and idiotic laws.

Harry was waiting for her in the common room when she clambered through the portrait hole. He smiled when she sat down beside him, sliding his charms parchment into his textbook. Lately, Harry had been a lot more diligent about his work than he ever had when Ron had hung around them regularly. Even now the youngest Weasley male scowled at them from across the room where he was playing Exploding Snap with Seamus. 

“How was your date with Theo?” Harry asked with only a hint of sarcasm. It was struggle for him to accept that an alpha wasn’t interested in controlling them despite his own feelings towards a different Slytherin. Both Gryffindors were trying hard to be supportive of the other’s pursuit and while still remaining wary of the trustworthiness of the Slytherins.

“It wasn’t a date,” Hermione said. “But we’re going to Hogsmeade tomorrow after breakfast. Theo suggested that I could bring you as a chaperone, but I said that that would be weird.”

Harry’s nose wrinkled. “Yeah, it would. I’d still do it if you want me to.”

“No,” replied his friend as firmly as she had to the Slytherin. “Are you going to go?”

“To Hogsmeade?” Harry clarified, to which she nodded. “I don’t think so. Neville offered to help me with the Herbology project involving night blooming fungi after midnight tonight. I don’t think I’ll want to get up, but I should be awake when you get back so you can tell me about it. But if you… if you need me, send a Patronus and I’ll take my Firebolt and…

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione stopped him gently with a hand on his arm. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but after what happened with Smith…”

“Theo isn’t like that,” snapped Hermione more sharply than she meant. “And if he is, I’ll be prepared to hex him this time.

“I know.” Hermione offered him a slightly apologetic smile as she stood up to head for the girl’s dormitory. “Just, Hermione? You’re my best friend. I just want you to be safe.”

“Thanks Harry.” She hugged him, warm and familiar. “I will be.” 

By the time she stood in front of the Great Hall the next morning, however, Hermione found herself chatting that reassurance to keep her nerves steady. “I’ll be safe, I’ll be safe, I’ll be safe, _Illbesafe_ …”

“Hermione.”

She turned, and the tension in her shoulder drained out of her at once. Theo’s expression was reserved, though still warm, but there was something about the way his gray jumper was twisted around her hips and his scarf was slightly uneven that made for an extremely unthreatening image. Still, her heart beat a little faster as he approached her.

“Hi Theo,” she greeted him shyly.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Er, shall we?”

Theo’s eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly as he offered her his arm, _his wand arm_. Hermione recognized the gesture as a means of putting as much power in her hands as he could. Merlin help her, he was just so…

“Hermione?” he steadied her as she tripped down the castle steps. “Are you sure you want to do this? If you aren’t ready, we can go back inside to the library, or….

“I want to,” Hermione took a breath. “Really I do.”

“At any point, we can go back to the castle,” Theo said gently. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Theo,” she put a little heat behind her words. “I appreciate that, but can you just trust me to say something if I’m unhappy? I will. I’m not exactly silent about my opinions.”

He chuckled. “I hope that’s a promise.”

It was probably a joke, but she scowled at him anyways just because. She did not relinquish her hold of his warm arm.

“What would you like to do today?” he asked.

“I need to stop at the Post Office, then maybe we can stop at the Three Broomsticks?"

Theo inclined his head. “Are you opposed to trying a new place for drinks? There’s an establishment just past the pub that opened in June. Dra… A friend told me that they have really excellent spiced mead.”

“That’s fine. Though I can’t recall if I’ve ever tried mead before.” 

Discussion of what wizarding confections Hermione had and had not tried (many)—and if Theo had tried any of the non-magical variety (very few) —held them all the way into the village. Theo led them to the Post Office first, ducking inside with Hermione despite her insistence that he need not brave the screeching and feces covered floors.

“I’d like a tawny owl to go to London, please,” Hermione told the rather ruffled looking woman behind the counter. Withdrawing her money pouch and a folded letter from her pocket, she counted out twice the necessary coins for a one way trip.

With her letter tied carefully to the owl’s leg, Hermione said to the animal carefully. “This is for Dr. and Dr. Granger in Maidenhead. They are muggles so if you could please stay until they have a letter to send back, I would appreciate it.”

The tawny gave a dutiful hoot and flapped into the air, departing from a hole in the roof. Hermione nodded to the shopkeeper, and Theo held open the door for her to exit before offering his arm again. Enjoying the excuse to touch him, Hermione curled her hand in his elbow once more.

“Why do you not use the school owls?” he asked.

“Part of it is habit I suppose. Post office owls were less likely to be searched under Umbridge and during the first year of the war. And school owls with letters for muggles go to the Ministry.” She knew he would understand why she did not want the Ministry looking through her mail, even now that the war was over.

“You’re welcome to use my bird if you like,” Theo offered, biting back his comment about the necessity of the school owls delivering letters to the Ministry to be placed in the muggle post. It wasn’t as if muggles would tolerate owls swooping into their offices the way wizards did. “Assuming your parents don’t mind a bigger bird.”

“But won’t you need it?” Hermione asked, not expecting Theo’s wince.

“Azkaban prisoners aren’t allowed letters by owl,” he said roughly. “And I don’t have much to say to my father anyways.” 

“Oh. I didn’t mean…” 

“I know you didn’t. I’m sure you have much more to say to your parents than I.”

He hadn’t expected her reciprocal wince any more than she had expected his initial. “Hermione.”

“My parents… we’re in a difficult place right now. I… I sort of… I obliviated them last year to keep them safe and sent them to Australia. They… they’re back now and I repaired their memories but…”

“Hey,” he swiped his thumb of his left across her cheek catching a tear that Hermione hadn’t realized was there. “You did the right thing. If the Dark Lord had found them, your parents would have had much worse than a few memories removed.”

“I know that,” Hermione stressed. “That doesn’t make their anger any easier.”

“I know something of what it is like to not get along with your parents. I could never do anything right for my father. He’d be furious if I told him…

Theo trailed off, though he didn’t take him hand from Hermione face.

“He’d be furious that you’re courting a mu…ggleborn,” she edited at the beginning of Theo’s thunderous expression.

“He would. I told you I don’t care, and I mean it. I am not courting your heritage, I’m courting you. I… I won’t lie about disliking muggles, but I never hated them, and I never wanted to see them dead.” 

Hermione realized they were standing in the middle of the street, but her feet didn’t seem to want to move. “I believe you.”

His mouth twitched with something like amusement. “Thank Merlin for that. Come on. I think we could both use a drink now.”

The little tavern to which Theo led them was half a block past the Three Broomsticks and much smaller. As he guided Hermione inside, she suddenly had the feeling that this was not a place she would have been welcome before the war. A fire was roaring in the hearth to combat the brisk autumn wind, and the tables were small possible wood with candles placed neatly in the center. The overall atmosphere was warm and pleasant, yet it spoke subtly of wealth and prestige in a way that Rosmerta’s inn did not.

They were hardly alone in the tavern; three other students, sixth year Ravenclaws Hermione thought, sat along the bar, and the main room buzzed with the lunch crowd. Theo lead her to a free table and went to order for them, leaving Hermione to fiddle with the sleeve of her jumper and try not to feel out of place. 

“Are you… Merlin!” Hermione jumped at Theo’s return. His dark eyes seemed caught on her wrist, but it took her a moment to realize that in her distraction she had pushed the sleeve up to her elbow. The angry red scar on her forearm showed starkly against her pale skin until she self-consciously yanked down her sleeve. She looked away as Theo sat across from her.

“Is that why you call yourself that slur?” Theo asked softly, his voice rough. There was no inflection in his words other than concern, but Hermione did not mistake his question as anything other than a demand. 

“No,” her voice was barely a whisper. “A, at least, I don’t think so.”

Circe, the murderous look on Theo’s face made her want to run for the hills even when she knew it was not directed at her.

“Who?” he asked, still lacking the alpha command she expected.

Hermione swallowed. “Harry, Ron, and I were captured and brought to Malfoy Manor. We had a sword with us that… it should have been in the Lestrange vault in Gringotts. Bellatrix…” her throat closed on the rest of the words, but that was still more than she had spoken to anyone other than Harry about what had happened. 

“You survived _Bellatrix_ Lestrange,” Theo said, and it wasn’t shock in his voice. She didn’t know what it was until Hermione forced herself to meet his eyes. Only then did she see that it was pride.

Warmth flushed through her before she could stop it, spreading down her chest and into her core as the hot gaze made her squirm. Her thighs came together, but Hermione knew that Theo could smell her, especially if the flare of his nostrils was any indication. That only made her warmer, and she took a gulp of her mead to cover the pink flush that raced across her cheeks.

Theo took a sip from his mug—it was as good as Draco had said though just now he was focused on something a hundred times more intoxicating—and watched Hermione flush with arousal. Under the table he discretely cast a charm around their seats to contain her scent. He would certainly protect her, but with a smell that mouthwatering, she would attract attention that neither of them wanted.

“I… I did what I had to,” Hermione was saying having somewhat collected herself. “I, um, I couldn’t… I had to protect Harry.”

“ _Brave girl,_ ” Theo murmured just to watch the blush turn from pink to red on her cheeks.

Hermione crossed her legs, which only served to rub places she was trying not to think about. Suddenly she was hyperaware of Theo’s foot against her shin, of the distance between their hands on the table. How could he make her feel this way discussing the worst thing she had ever experienced? Her mouth went dry as Theo looked at her and—the bastard—smirked as if he knew exactly what he was making her feel.

Without thinking Hermione surged out of her seat and ceased Theo by the lapels. Dragging him laughing across the tavern, she threw open the door and marched into the street. 

“What are you doing?” Theo laughed.

Hermione was grown woman, and sexist wizarding laws or not, her mother had taught her that choosing to be a sexual creature was nothing shameful. 

“I’m taking you back to Hogwarts,” Hermione said firmly. “Because I really want to kiss you right now, but I don’t want to do it in public.”

Theo extracted his coat from her tight grasp but laced their fingers together so she could still haul him around as she pleased. “I’m hardly likely to object to that.”

The rest of the way back to the castle was a blur, and it wasn’t until Theo pulled her away from the staircases and towards the dungeons that she paused to think. Thankfully, Theo seemed to notice her hesitation because he said coaxingly, “The dungeons will be more private than your tower. And I can get you in without letting anyone see you.”

Harry and Ron had been to the Slytherin common room before, but Hermione hadn’t. She tried not to gape at the water-distorted light that brightened the empty room—how Theo had known it would be empty she had no idea—even as Theo pulled her past and along a short corridor to his room.

That room too was empty, and Theo, with a glance at her, locked the door behind them. The hunger in his dark eyes reminded Hermione of why she had wanted to get him alone, but it wasn’t so much that it scared her. Licking her lips, she looped her arms around his neck—Merlin he was tall—and kissed him full on the mouth.

As Hermione melted against him, Theo forced himself to swallow the low noise that threatened to escape his throat. With his mouth and nose full of her scent, it was all he could do to keep the growl in his chest. Merlin wept she smelled like, like… there weren’t words. She smelled like his, and fuck, he wanted her.

Theo kissed like he was a drowning man and she was his salvation. His mouth was worshipful, reverent and wonderfully hot against her lips. His hands stroked her flanks, and Hermione wanted to purr against his chest. She stood on her toes, unaware of the soft moan she made as his tongue slipped across hers.

She almost stumbled, but his hand on the curve of her spine guided her across his thighs as Theo sat on his bed. Squirming closer, Hermione traced his mouth with her tongue. Theo fought the need to grind against her though he let his hand slip below the fabric of her jumper and just rest against the tantalizing warmth of the soft skin at her waist. He felt her shiver and push into his hands as she nipped at his lower lip. Theo grinned.

She had not been hot in Hogsmeade, not really. She was hot now though, Hermione realized. Liquid heat pooled in her core, beating between her legs as Theo snogged her, and god was it glorious. The steady pulse of want made her loose and pliant in Theo’s hands with just the brush of his thumbs across her flesh sending sparks straight to her center.

He felt… he felt powerful under her small hands and electric where her thighs straddled him. The loud, demanding scent of his arousal sang in her nose, and he was hard where her hips ground into the sharp line of his erection …

Ice raced up her spine dousing need faster than a bucket of water over a fire. Hermione flinched violently backwards, almost falling off Theo’s lap in her haste to put space between them. His strong hands steadied her, making no effort to pull her close and releasing her the moment she had her balance on his knees.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice was meek as she had yet heard it. “What did I do?”

It was hard to speak with the pounding in her chest and the ragged catch of air in her lungs. “You… didn’t. Just… too intense. Too much,” Hermione panted. “Too much at once.” 

“I’m sorry.” And Merlin he sounded like it. Hermione was overcome with the urge to hug him. She leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder and put her arms around his waist. Slowly her breath began to ease.

“It wasn’t anything you did,” she reassured him entirely truthfully. “I liked it. It was just too much sensation too quickly. Thank you for stopping.”

He didn’t speak for a moment and when he did Theo’s voice was something between furious and appalled. “Of course, I fucking stopped. You thought I wouldn’t?” 

“Another alpha didn’t recently. Not like this, just wouldn’t leave me alone. So, I just… thank you.”

Theo brought his hand up to squeeze the back of her neck. “Do you want me to take care of it?” and Merlin, the fact that he asked rather than just demanding the other alpha’s name meant everything. She still shook her head.

“You’re okay?” he checked again and to that Hermione nodded. “Good. I don’t feel particularly inclined to stop holding you right now unless you ask.”

“No,” said Hermione, cuddling closer to his warmth and the now warm, muted scent at his neck. “’M good right here.”

“Perfect.” And yeah, thought Hermione, he really was.

 


	9. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all the people to whom I promised Drarry, I hope this is to your liking.

Hermione opened her eyes when a tentative knock sounded on the door of Theo’s dorm. She sat up reluctantly, and if the slowness of Theo’s hands leaving her waist was any indication, he was reluctant too.

Theo slid Hermione off his lap to sit next to him on the bed—not that it would really fool anyone, but it looked less indecent—and cast a charm to lift their scents from the air. Then he flicked his wand at the lock and said, with only a little annoyance, “Come in.”

Draco opened the door slowly, as if he were afraid of what he might find. Granger was sitting next to Theo on the bed, but they were holding hands and Draco could smell the lingering scent of her arousal. Undoubtedly Theo had cast a charm, but even the best charms didn’t block everything.

“Theo. Granger. Do you have a moment?”

His friend tilted an eyebrow at him, and yes Draco could see that they had been busy but clearly, they were done, so he just returned the arched look.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” said Granger, her voice not confrontational but not unwary either. He couldn’t blame her. Frankly if she wasn’t still a bit wary, she was far stupider than he thought she was.

“I…” he swallowed and clenched his teeth but Merlin’s teeth he was going to say it. She deserved that much from him. “I’m so sorry, Granger. I… I heard you and Theo in Hogsmeade and… I’m so fucking sorry for what my insane aunt did to you.”

The dorm was silent. Draco felt his shoulders hunch, unable to lift his eyes to look at either his friend or the girl he had watched tortured on his drawing room floor.

Granger cleared her throat. “Th… thank you, Malfoy. It wasn’t your fault.”

He didn’t mean to glare at her, but he couldn’t bear any more Gryffindor naivete. “It was my house. I should have… done something. Tried harder. I couldn’t, I _didn’t_ save you, and I’m so sorry for that. You… didn’t deserve what she did. Any of it.” 

There was more silence and by the time he managed to lift his gaze, Granger was standing with Theo beside her, his friend’s hand gently rubbing her back.

“Thank you,” she said again, quietly. “There really wasn’t anything you could have done. But thank you.”

 She and Theo exited past him leaving Draco alone to sink to the floor and try to catch his breath.

 __________________ 

Neville and Harry looked a little bleary eyed when Hermione got back to the common room but no worse for wear for all that. There was a third chair open by the fire, so Hermione flopped into it contemplatively. Only when Neville called her name a fourth time did she manage to take notice.

“… Hermione?”

“Hm. Oh, sorry, Neville.” 

“What’re you thinking about so hard?” Harry asked, teasing.

“Just…” There were a lot of things to think about between her date and the encounter with Malfoy at the end, but she wasn’t about the tell Harry and Neville about snogging Theo. “Malfoy. He… he just apologized for what happened when we… at Malfoy Manor.”

Neville blinked at her. Harry appeared to have frozen. “Did he? That’s good of him even if he probably couldn’t have helped.”

“It was very odd,” said Hermione.

“Maybe,” Neville said pensively. “But he has been different since the war. He hasn’t been nasty at all since we got back this year.” 

“I suppose I hadn’t noticed,” admitted Hermione. “Harry, are you alright?” 

Harry was silent with a strange look on his face, an odd mix of puzzlement and hope with a green touch of nausea. “I… I have to go,” he said, standing so abruptly that he up-ended the chessboard set between him and Neville. “Where did you say you spoke to Malfoy?”

“In the Slytherin common room,” lied Hermione because again talking to Harry about Theo in the dorm—ugh no, just no.

“Right. I’ll see you later. Thanks again Neville. For... all the help”

“Harry!” his friends called after him, and who could blame them as he stumbled like an Inferi towards the exit of the common room, mind too occupied to think about walking.

Harry was out the portrait hole before either Hermione or Neville could rise to stop him. He descended the tower in a daze, caught between wanting to think Draco had changed and remembering their game on the Quidditch pitch. It wasn’t impossible that Draco had changed, obviously. They had had an entire game without resorting to hurling insults. Still he was an alpha. Maybe he was like Smith? Maybe… Harry didn’t want to think about that possibility, but he was going to find out what Malfoy meant by apologizing to Hermione.

He blinked at finding himself facing the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He hadn’t bothered to ask Hermione the password, had me? Unwilling to give up his quest for answers, Harry slumped against the wall and waited until a returning Slytherin, first or second year by the look of them—came along whom he could bully, bride, cajole, or otherwise persuade to go get Draco for him. Then he sat and waited again.

“Merlin, Potter,” said the object of his interest as he emerged gracefully from the Slytherin’s dwelling, “what is so important? You convinced Selwyn that you’re going to bloody murder me.” 

Harry stood up and tried to organize his thoughts into a sort of logical course of questioning. Being Harry, what came out was, “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

“Potter, what are you talking about?”

“Hermione told me you _apologized_.” It sounded much more like an accusation than a question.

“And that is so hard to believe, is it?” Draco snarled, shifting from mildly irritated confusion to anger in zero flat. “That after watching my aunt carve up her arm, after hearing her screams for the past year every time I close my eyes, that I might regret everything that led to her writhing on my drawing room floor? Yes, I’m fucking sorry.”

Harry blinked. “I didn’t mean… I just thought…”

“That I’m too stuck up to see a girl bleeding under my nose and feel bad about it. Yes, Potter, I do. Thanks ever so for your delightful opinion of me.”

“NO!” said Harry, panicking. “That wasn’t…”

“Just leave me alone, Potter,” Malfoy growled, not very harshly.

Harry hesitated for half a moment but not an instant longer than that. Seizing Draco by the collar of his robes, Harry pushed him into the wall and kissed him, all uncoordinated teeth and sharp, demanding want. Distantly he heard the squeak of hinges, and then Draco was shoving him into the nearest broom closet and unzipping Harry’s trousers.

“What are you…” Harry stopped talking because Draco was kissing him again. 

“Really,” Draco rasped, voice gone low and wanting. “You want to talk _now_?”

Harry shook his head mutely, aware that his expression probably bordered on pleading. Draco expertly slide down Harry’s pants leaving his exposed and shivering under his gaze, but Merlin wept did he want to continue. Want curled in his belly, hot and eager, and Harry swallowed a sentence that likely would have come out as nothing more than a whine. 

Then Draco said, “Fuck, Potter, you’re _tiny_.”

Heat rose in Harry’s face and suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but here. He blinked back hot tears and snapped, “Piss off Malfoy.”

“No,” Draco leaned in and breathed against his ear. Harry shivered and tried to draw back but there was nowhere to go with the color wood behind him. “You misunderstand, _Harry_. An omega with a big cock is likely to be an infertile, temperamental one. But you are so small…”   

Harry jerked as Malfoy palmed him, his hand closing over the entire length of Harry’s hard, sensitive little shaft.  

“You’re so small,” the alpha repeated softly. “All of your body’s resources have gone into developing your real sexual organs, the internal ones, your womb and ovaries. A small cock is the most physically desirable feature in a male omega.”

Harry tried to contain a whimper, but it escaped his mouth as a needy cry when Draco squeezed the base of his erection and brushed his fingers against the sensitive skin of Harry’s sack. 

“Beautiful.” Draco kissed him, tongue invading Harry’s mouth and stroking in a way that made Harry whine. He felt so hot and so incredibly sensitive as every brush of Draco’s fingers made him tremble.

“Malfoy,” he whispered.

“Draco,” the alpha corrected firmly. “I’ve already given you permission once.”

Harry melted into his touch. “Draco, please!”

Then both of the alpha’s hands were between his legs, one gently massaging his balls with a touch that made them ache, the other twisting and stroking his erection so perfectly that Harry teetered on the edge of screaming. There was so much sensation that the rough grip with too much friction felt like ecstasy. A helpless moan escaped Harry, pinned against the wall so he could not grind his hips into Draco the way he wanted.           

“That’s it,” Draco coaxed. “Aren’t you a good boy? So small and pretty, and so willing for me. I want you to come. Can you do that for me? Can you come all over your stomach with my hand on your cock?”

Harry came with a loud moan. His abdomen clenched tightly on nothing, his erection throbbed, and his balls drew up close to his body. Or they tried to. Draco held his sack down forcing his balls to remain low and pressed his fingers firmly into Harry’s perineum. This pulled an orgasm out of Harry the likes of which he had never known. His low belly ached, drawing out his pleasure with a delicious twinge. Harry started to cry with need, and Draco released his sack. Only then did Harry feel the warmth of his release fall across his stomach.

It took him ages to come back from the abyss in which his orgasm had left him. Harry panted, legs shaking with sensation as Draco played gently with his soft foreskin and tender head. He might possibly have whimpered as the feeling became too much for over-sensitized nerves.

“That’s a good omega,” Draco said gently, and despite his desire to remain his own master, something in Harry shivered at the relief he felt from hearing those words. He summoned the strength to look up at the alpha who had just reduced him to a shaking, sticky mess.           

“That was…”

“Good, I’ll bet,” said Draco smugly when no other words were forthcoming. Harry just nodded weakly. Draco finally let go of his spent cock and dragged his fingers up across the smear on Harry’s stomach. Harry flushed as Draco brought them to his mouth.

“Mm, you taste so sweet, Potter. I bet your slick is even sweeter.”

“Thought it was supposed to be bitter,” Harry muttered, but it wasn’t as if he’d had a lot, or well, _any_ experience.

Draco’s eyes narrowed with amusement matching his smirk. “It is. When you aren’t an omega. You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

Draco chuckled and leaned in so close that Harry nearly whacked his head against the wall trying to keep enough distance to see him. “Male omegas don’t produce seed. Oh sure, you’ve just demonstrated that you don’t come dry, but you could never get anyone pregnant. All this” —here Draco tenderly cupped his rapidly stiffening little cock and balls— “is vestigial, completely useless except for making you come apart in my hands.”           

“But…” Harry wished yet again that there was more information about male omegas. “Female alphas…”

“Female alphas take alpha or beta mates, Potter. An omega is no use to them, nor can they give an omega what he needs. Male omegas are always, _always_ mated to male alphas. And I want you to be with me.”

Harry blinked, reality rushing back with enough force to knock the breath out of him. “You said want.”

“Of course, I want you, Harry, look at you.”

“No, I meant, you said you want me not that you’re going to have me or that I’m already yours.”

Draco winced and pulled away abruptly which wasn’t what Harry had intended. As he watched, Draco rubbed self-consciously at his left arm.

“I know what it’s like to be claimed by someone you don’t want. Maybe it isn’t the same thing, and you freed me from it, but I get it. I wouldn’t do that to someone else.” Silver eyes sharpened and Harry felt himself suddenly pinned by the gaze again. “I want you to be mine, and I’ll try to get you to want it too, but I’m not going to force you.”

“Thank you.”

“Right,” Draco dragged his hand away from the Mark. “Just… make sure to clean yourself up before you go back out. You smell like…”

Draco shut the closet door behind him with more vigor than Harry had expected. He stood staring after Draco for a long moment before his knees decided that really, they’d had quite enough, and he slid less than gracefully to the floor. Without Draco pressed against him, Harry felt rather cold and lonely, but it wasn’t as if he had wanted Draco to stay and cuddle him.

He didn’t know Draco. Well he did, but not this Draco, not really. Harry slowly began to put himself back together even though his skin still tingled where Draco had touched him.

He didn’t know Draco, but he was pretty sure that he wanted to.

 

           


End file.
